


Is that Rite?

by Hino



Category: Pyre (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Was for the 2019 SGG Secret Santa, set post canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:09:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22673062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hino/pseuds/Hino
Summary: The Archjustice has fallen, his titles washed away with the river's current.Now he's stuck with the Reader in a Blackwagon bound for the False Rites.
Kudos: 16





	Is that Rite?

The blackwagon is far quieter without a good handful of the Nightwings, but the Reader doesn't find the silence unsettling. In fact it's a comfort; each moment of precious time spent without sound a sign that their friends have made it home, back to the Commonwealth where the revolution has taken place, and the new Sahrian Empire has come into power.

"Honestly Reader, how can you stand such cramped quarters?"

Well it's quieter, but not silent. The Reader sets down the book they're tending to and slowly gets to their feet, feeling their aching bones protest as they shuffle from their chair to the sleeping quarters. There stands the Archjustice- Former Archjustice, seeing as he'd been stripped of all his titles by Volfred in the revolution before being cast downriver. He looks quite different outside of his golden robe and mask, with short blonde hair and a patchwork jumpsuit that does not suit him at all.

Calmly, the Reader comments that the quarters are not cramped, and that Brighton (a name they stress much to the annoyance of the man) must be too stuck up and pampered to deal with 'commoner quarters', relishing in the irritation that Brighton wears. 

He crosses his arms. "That is not the issue," he says, although it is. Being cast down twice does not do the body any favours, and the corruption that the Downside brings to Nomads and Moontouched seems to have come back in full force, greeting Brighton with slightly sharper nails and the beginning of horns in little less than two months. "There's just too many beds packed together."

It is not the first time Brighton has stayed in the wagon, the Reader reminds him, clambering into their own little bed. There's enough room for them and for a shelf of knick-knacks left behind by their fellow Nightwings. They continue, explaining that in time, he will have to get used to such small spaces.

"It's undignified," Brighton complains. The reader informs Brighton that his mother is undignified, much to the surprise of the man.

"I'll have you know that your father is undignified, Reader!" he shouts back for lack of a better insult. The Reader has kept their name under lock and key, and it seems with the amount of Exiles the Commonwealth was turning out, Brighton has forgotten theirs. They like to use it to their advantage.

Before their argument can go any further, the blackwagon lurches to a halt. Brighton groans, having only just settled down in his quarters. "Are we there already?"

It seems so, the Reader says as they hop to their feet. It's not a smooth action, but it happens. They say they're going to feed the Imps, and go look for Barker. Brighton merely hums in acknowledgement.

The ladder to the Imps is rickety and narrow, but the Reader manages just fine. They have a small bag of feed to give them, and as they reach for it, Brighton enters the common area.

They call out to him, asking what he's doing. Above them the Imps are getting impatient, so they make sure to dish out some food while also trying to keep their attention on Brighton.

He doesn't answer them. Instead he stands by the Beyonder Orb, his hand set atop it. Whatever conversation he's having is quiet, enough so that even the Reader can't hear it, nor can they sense anything that Sandra is radiating.

As they finish feeding the Imps, Brighton finishes his conversation. "She's just as bitter as ever," he grumbles as the Reader passes them by, looking for their Raiments. Ever since the Rites had finished for good and Barker had started up his own mockery, the Reader had taken every chance they could to participate. They weren't good at it by any stretch of the word, but their attempts earned cheers from the spectators.

Pulling the Raiments off the wall, they turn to Brighton and ask if he will be participating.

Brighton scoffs. "Of course," he answers, taking another set from the wall and holding them close. "I was a champion back in my time. Earned my own freedom, even without the help of..." he trails off, the words heavy on his tongue.

As the Reader dons their robes, they look to Brighton and ask a question they have had for a long time. Did he see it happen? Did he see Erisa push Oralech from the Shimmer-pool.

He slips the robes over his head and doesn't answer, covering his face with the mask of a Nomad as he steps out into the dusty plains of the Jomuer Valley. After a moment, the Reader follows after him.

The heat that usually assaulted the valley is gone under the moonlight, but the humid, thick air is still present. Despite it, there's a decent crowd around the Cairn of Ha'ub as chairs are filled and empty spaces are taken up by those who prefer to stand. Blackwagons are parked around the area, with some exiles choosing to sit atop them for a better view of the field.

The Reader wonders what Tariq and Celeste would think of their commodification of a once-sacred place. This particular site doesn't mean much to the Reader, but they do not enjoy playing on the Ridge of Gol, nor atop Mount Alodiel.

"I can't believe that Barker defiled such a place," Brighton grumbles, startling the Reader. He's right beside them now, having somehow appeared without a sound. "Anyway Reader, I suppose we must find a third for our team, and mayhaps a Reader. Although, considering the name you chose, you might be our best fit."

It's a surprise, so much so that the Reader laughs. They state their surprise at Brighton permitting them to read for him, which makes Brighton sigh. "You were an excellent Reader, one I had thought to be my successor. If someone has to boss me around, I would prefer it be you."

That's oddly flattering of him. It's the closest thing the Reader will get to a compliment anyway. They don't say that aloud however, and instead motion for Brighton to join them as they look for two more to join their Triumvirate. There are still some Nightwings in the Downside, but they have their own lives to attend to, and the Reader doesn't try to bring them to these False Rites unless they're asked.

Finding two others for their Triumvirate is easy enough. There's a small handful of hopefuls who attend the False Rites as backup players, ready to make a team if nobody shows up, or to fill a space if someone is lacking players, much like the Nightwings are.

Soon enough, Brighton finds himself with a Wyrm and a Cur on his team. They won't be big scorers on their own, but their speed might make up for that, he supposes. "Surprised you didn't opt for a Demon, Reader."

Looking over their copy of the Book of Rites, the Reader quips that Brighton's build still falls into that of a Nomad. Just a very slow one. 

He bristles at the comment. "That's rude."

The Reader raises an eyebrow, face not obscured by a mask. They say that hypocrisy isn't smiled upon in the Downside, and Brighton sighs but doesn't answer.

Their conversation has no time to continue as Barker's voice rings out over the masses. He stands atop one of Shax Six-Shoulder's many ribs, looking down on the field. "Alright kids, we're ready to go! Our teams tonight are veterans, so lemme hear you all howl!"

A cacophonous sound rises up, startling Brighton. The Reader bites their lip to hold back a laugh.

"With the blue pyre, we have our Nightwings!" Barker motioned to the pyre; a hoop with blue streamers that danced in the air, reaching up towards the Sahrian Union. Brighton stood front and center, with his two new comrades at his side. The Reader stood on one side of the field, giving them a nod of encouragement.

The crowd cheered for the Nightwings, falling silent as Barker continued his announcement. "On the other side with the pink flame, we have The Chastity!"

Once again the crowd came to life as The Chastity appeared. Their team consisted of a Nomad, a Sap, and a Harp. They played without a Reader, which in most cases meant they had a Reader on their team.

Brighton gave the opposing team a once-over, turning his gaze to the Reader a moment later. He would trust their judgment and gave them a nod, signifying that fact.

"Are we ready to go? When the Orb hits the ground, we're on!" 

A cur standing on the sidelines opposite the Reader readied the Orb; a glass orb purchased from the store Bertrude had once operated, which meant it was almost impossible to shatter. The cur looked to both teams carefully before tossing it into the field.

All eyes fell on the orb as it fell in a perfect arc, hitting the dusty ground with a thump. Barker howled, and the Reader raised their voice, ready to shout their commands.

As it turns out, Brighton is rather good at the Rites. The Reader's word is law in the Rites, but without the forceful guiding of the Reader overriding the free will of the Exiles, some of the moves Brighton makes precede the Reader's own decisions.

The Nightwing's Cur passes the ball to Brighton, who catches it without any effort. His motions are fluid as he dodges the thick weighted ribbons thrown at him to represent a cast aura, and the hoops attached to the Exiles which represent presence. It's like a dance, and the Reader finds themselves invested in each of his steps.

They call out for Brighton to plunge into the flame, but before the core of their sentence can get there, he casts the orb into their Pyre, netting them twenty points.  
"The Nightwings score first! Just like the old days, hey boys?" Barker's voice rings out over the field and the remaining members of the Dissidents all howl in glee.

With the ball in the hoop, the Chastity and Nightwings return to their respective sides, and the Reader waves Brighton over. As he approaches, they raise their voice to shout over the howling and hollering of Barker's crew, explaining that Brighton should have leapt into the Pyre.

"What, and leave us disadvantaged for the next turn? They weren't even close!" Brighton answers with crossed arms. The Reader shakes their head, explaining that the Chastity's Sap had a Sapling nearby, and that it could have taken him out if he wasn't careful. Brighton removes his mask. "But I was careful. I'm not a bumbling idiot like your Nightwings."

Irritated, the Reader covers their face. Brighton should behave, they say, which makes Brighton scowl. "You should make better decisions with your Triumvirate," he says forcefully. "Maybe then they wouldn't feel Banishment Sickness as much as they did."

Taken aback by his bluntness, the Reader states that Brighton agreed to let them read for him, and Brighton laughs. "You didn't tell me you could play with a Reader in the team, did you?" His gaze is critical, but the Reader does not flinch under it. "Maybe if you did-"

"Excuse me mates."

Barker appears beside them, causing the Reader and Brighton to put their arguments on hold. "As much as I like a good fight, we got some Rites here t'conclude. If you wanna throw hands after, then you'd better tell me and I'll have payouts ready." There's a smile that shows Barker is genuine, which makes the Reader and Brighton sigh.

"We'll talk about this later," Brighton says, sliding his mask back on. "Don't make any stupid decisions."

The Reader nods, and kindly informs Brighton that every decision he makes is stupid, so surely hearing their advice is a step in the right direction.

Barker snickers and trots off to find his betting table.


End file.
